The Doll's House

97

Charlie knew something was up the minute she entered the house. She’d just returned from the newsagent – today’s Evening News had a big spread about the bluebird tattoo lead in the ‘Bodies on the Beach’ case and Charlie was looking forward to reading the details – but something about the feel of the house was… wrong. Was this a legacy of her years of police work? Or the result of her abduction by Marianne? Her senses were particularly acute now and she could tell she was not alone in the house.

She remained stock still, trying to quieten her breathing, which was loud and fast. Her police baton was upstairs at the bottom of a drawer, so she turned now and edged back towards the front door she’d just entered, taking care not to tread on the creaky floorboard on the left. In days gone by, she would have confronted an intruder without hesitation or fear, but there was no question of that now with her swollen belly. But as she laid her hand on the latch -

‘Charlie.’

A female voice. Helen’s voice. Charlie turned, ready to tear a strip off her boss for scaring the life out of her, but when she saw the anxiety on her face, she swallowed the rebuke.

‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I had to see you, but I couldn’t risk contacting you directly.’

Intrigued Charlie ushered her into the living room.

‘What’s going on?’

Helen gestured for them to sit down. Once on the sofa, she moved in close.

‘Harwood’s called in Anti-Corruption. They are ripping my flat apart as we speak.’

‘But why…?’

‘The whole Robert thing…’ Helen paused briefly as the cruelty of Harwood’s scheme hit home once more. ‘The whole thing was faked.’

Charlie stared at her, disbelieving.

‘I don’t think there was a fight in Northampton, I don’t think Robert ever lived there,’ Helen continued. ‘The whole thing was designed to lure me into accessing classified material -’

‘Giving grounds for dismissal.’

Helen nodded. Charlie shook her head – could Harwood really stoop this low?

‘What have they got on you?’

‘A tape recording of my meet with DI Marsh. On its own, it’s not enough. She needs to prove I’ve got the file, hence the search at my flat.’

Now Charlie knew why Helen had come.

‘I’ll do it now,’ she said, rising.

‘Thank you,’ Helen replied, heading back towards the kitchen. She paused in the doorway:

‘Oh, and Charlie, I’d get the lock on your back door sorted. Child’s play.’

Charlie took the rebuke in good humour and hurried upstairs. Anti-Corruption might make the connection between Helen and her or they might not, but there was no point in taking chances. She thanked God now that Helen had seen fit to trust the photocopied file to her for safekeeping. If she hadn’t, she would have been suspended or worse by now. And Charlie and Sally Mason would have been in the firing line too. Steve wouldn’t necessarily have minded, but it wasn’t how Charlie intended her career to end. She owed it to all of them to put this thing to bed once and for all.

She was all fingers and thumbs as she lit the firelighters, stacked underneath the logs in their fireplace. It was an odd time of year for a log fire, but needs must. Eventually the match struck, the paraffin ignited and in minutes the fire was crackling nicely. Charlie didn’t hesitate, feeding the pages of the faked report, then even the file itself, into the flames. She was oddly tense, as she watched the papers catch and curl, as if Anti-Corruption might burst in at any moment. But the house – the street – was quiet and before long the papers were reduced to ash. Charlie wondered if it was enough. They had foiled Harwood’s initial attempt to bring Helen down, but how complex was this scheme? And was there anything they had overlooked? The thought of Southampton Central without Helen was absurd and yet this now seemed to be Harwood’s mission. And Charlie knew from experience that when Harwood wanted something badly enough, she generally got it.